So I'll be honest this one started out as a smutty one shot around with a Wanklock theme but it morphed into more of a full on Sherlolly fic. Don't worry though it's only two chapters long.

As for coming up with a title I had to rope in lilsherlockian1975 to help me out as I couldn't think of anything which adequately described what this is, so to thank her for her help…Lil, this is dedicated to you, you are the bestest friend I could ever have wished for.

Chapter 1

Once a week, regular as clockwork, Sherlock Holmes would masturbate.

In the early days of his abstinence he tried to just ignore this simple bodily function; to will it away, ignore it. But he found that sexuality and sexual release was not something that could easily be denied. It found a way and that normally meant him waking up covered in both sweat and his own semen, forcing him to have to change the bed and shower.

So instead his concession was to give in, but in a controlled way. A control that he soon worked out was needed at least once a week. It was normally on a Sunday night, but it would vary occasionally, sometimes delayed a day or two if he were wrapped up in a case. He would go to bed slightly earlier with the express intention of giving rein to his desires, to indulge in whatever fantasy would quickly and efficiently bring him to climax.

He'd been almost embarrassed at first, seeing his capitulation and subsequent ejaculation as a sign of failure but over the years he had come to terms with it and even allowed himself to look forward to it.

His choice of 'material' had altered as well over time. In the early years he had used images from his recent past, memories of past liaisons teased over and reimagined until they grew ineffective with overuse and he had to seek out new ideas. It was fortunate then that it was around this time that John moved in with him, bringing along his laptop and an interest horde of bookmarks and favourited sites. Sherlock would peruse through them, tucking away in his mind the images that most turned him on, filing them away to be brought back out when he needed them.

It was a bit of a surprise when he found his encounter with Miss Adler starting to feature in those weekly sessions. He hadn't particularly found her attractive but maybe it was the sight of all that naked flesh in real life, after years of computer images that seized his imagination. He'd also had to look through her website and now he could visualise her wielding whips and restraining him. He would close his eyes and feel his body arching under him as he desperately jerked himself off, feeling his own cock hard and unyielding, waiting for that sweet moment when he could feel his climax overtake him, wiping out thought and emotion and any other sensation other than that of his completion.

As with everything else though he tired of her modern and commercially formulaic sexuality and so he returned to John's laptop.

It was when he 'died' and had to leave the country that he first visualised Molly Hooper and once again, just as he had when he had first started indulging in this activity, he felt guilty; a little ashamed. Molly was his colleague; more than that even, she was his friend but it seemed that once the idea found a foothold in his brain he couldn't shake it off.

He imagined her watching him fall, her face a picture of horror and grief, but then she would see him again and her despair would morph into joy. She would fling her arms around him and kiss him with such unabated passion that he could feel himself becoming hard and ready for her.

In his mind he had taken her a hundred different ways; she had been beneath him calling his name; above him writhing like a Greek goddess as she rode him; on her knees with her beautiful mouth wrapped around his cock as he'd pumped his seed into her; face down on his bed with her ass in the air as he'd rammed himself inside her, hearing her cry out for more.

He'd hoped that coming home and seeing her again would help him to go back to just seeing her as a friend. Instead he'd found she belonged to another and for some reason that escaped him the thought of it drove him crazy. Once a week soon turned into twice a week and even embarking on a fake relationship with Janine did nothing to remove thoughts of Molly from his mind. He found himself counting down the days, the hours, the minutes until he could be with her again; both in reality and in his fantasies. Then he'd catch himself watching her in the lab or the morgue and he'd feel as though he were losing his mind. Outside of his work she seemed to be all he could think about.

He would lie in the dark of his bedroom and close his eyes letting images of her wash over him until he could feel himself starting to respond physically. He'd push down his pyjamas, hooking them under his balls before taking hold of his shaft with a firm grip. His favourite image was of her at work, wearing her lab coat, her hair up in its normal and familiar pony tail. The difference was he knew she was naked under that coat and as she walked towards him she would start to unbutton it. As it fell from her shoulders he would increase the pace of his hand, fisting his cock up and down, feeling the pre-cum sliding down and lubricating his movements making him imagine what it would feel like to enter her.

He'd visualise her lying on one of the lab desks, her knees already parted and raised, ready to receive him, her arms held out to him. As he imagined himself sliding into her his grip would increase and he'd start to feel that delicious tightening starting low in his abdomen making his balls ache and his cock twitch repeatedly. He'd know as he got close, letting his hand pull and push on the skin from the base of his erection to the tip, his hips rocking back and forth in time with his hand.

He saw her calling his name and moaning, begging him for more and he wanted to give in to her. Each time he wanted to give her more of himself until he didn't know where she started and he ended. Then he'd come crying out her name; glad that the only person who might hear was in the floor below and going slightly deaf.

The week after he'd been shot he was in hospital recovering from his escapade with Mary and John but this time, probably due to his lack of energy and frail state he pictured her in a far less passionate way than normal. He'd imagined the two of them just spending an evening together. Molly cooked whilst he'd worked on his experiments and then after their meal he lain on the settee with his head in her lap; the two of them watching television with her playing with his hair. It had felt so comforting and so right that instead of wanting to touch himself he just found himself wanting to hold her.

His recovery was slow but steady and he didn't see Molly once. John assured him that she had been there; that she had sat by his bedside night after night when he had been sedated or asleep but she was never there when he was conscious and it bothered him more that he would have thought it would.

By Christmas he was back in Baker St and his sexual needs had returned in full force almost enough to distract him at times from the evil filth that was Charles Augustus Magnusson. He had thought about trying to contact Molly but had stopped himself each time. His texts just looked too much like dates and he was concerned that his sexual frustration was overlapping into his actual life and not confined to the one beneath the bed covers.

His ministrations on himself by now were often unfulfilled and dissatisfying. He could jerk himself off until his hand and wrist ached and he'd almost have tears of desperation and frustration in his eyes and when he finally came he'd be left feeling hollow and disgruntled; thoughts and emotions crawling and nagging at the back of his mind seeking relief.

It was no small factor in his decision to take drugs just prior to his exile. The realisation that he would be leaving England and would never see her again had brought into sharp relief for him just how bad his decision had been to repress his feelings for the women in his life and in particular for his pathologist. And he did acknowledge it now; he was in love with Molly Hooper and had been for at least two years maybe even longer.

As he had made his decision to shoot Magnussen the one regret was never being able to tell her how he felt and so the drugs were a way of blotting out his pain and anger he felt from his own inaction. As he drifted in and out of reality he saw how angry she was with him in his drug induced fugue state and that anger came directly from within.

He knew he had to deal with the Moriarty thing but for once he was actually indebted to him because it gave him a second chance at life and love and it was one he wasn't about to throw away.

As they drove away from the airport he'd given the driver Molly's address and seen Mary's knowing smirk at the same time as John's jaw had dropped in shock, 'Molly's...you're going to Molly's place. Are you out of your mind?' As he said the latter he turned to his wife with disbelief written in his face before turning back and shouting, 'but yes, of course you are because you just nearly fucking killed yourself Sherlock. You need to go to hospital.'

Sherlock just looked coldly at John, irritated by his nagging concern, 'Molly's a doctor, she would be more than capable of treating me if that's what I needed.'

'And what about the case, what about Moriarty? Are we just supposed to sit around a twiddle our thumbs whilst you what...in fact, why exactly are you going to Molly's flat?'

Mary's smirk grew wider and she turned to look out of the window for fear that John would see it.

Sherlock took a deep breath and considered saying nothing but he'd repressed his feelings for Molly for too long and if he was going to do this he was going to do it right. She wasn't some dirty little secret. So he turned to his best friend and looked him square in the eye, 'I'm going to tell her I'm in love with her and hope that she will have me.'

John let out a strangled, scoffing laugh and looked at Mary as though seeking assurance that he had heard what he thought he had just heard. Sherlock could see the realisation that Mary already knew wash over his features; John was always so transparent.

'Are you sure you're not still high?'

Sherlock shrugged, 'maybe a bit but I know what I'm doing. You've seen the list, I was careful with the balance. I don't want any sudden crash or adverse reactions. By the time i get to Molly's I'll be almost back to normal.'

John played his last card, 'and how do you think Molly will react to the news that you've been using again?'

This one had Sherlock shifting uncomfortably in his seat and studiously looking out of the window. He had no good answer for that one. Molly had made it more than clear how she felt about his drug use. He'd just have to be honest and see what happened.

He dozed for part of the journey and had to be woken when they pulled up outside Molly's block of flats. He glanced at his watch and knew she'd be finished with work and probably home. For the first time in a long while he felt that jitter of nerves in his stomach. This was the moment of truth, he was prostrating himself and his heart before a woman for the first time in his life and he had no idea what she would say.

John seemed to be ignoring him now. His arms were crossed and he refused to make eye contact but Mary leant forward and touched his knee, 'good luck Sherlock. I have a feeling you'll need it...but you're doing the right thing.'

He nodded his head once and turned back to John, 'I'm meeting my brother in Baker St tomorrow at ten. If you are still interested in the case I'll see you then.' There was no response so he just said good night to Mary and then he climbed out of the car, waiting as it slid away into the night.

He buttoned his coat and then turned to look up at Molly's flat. The light was on and it warmed his heart on that cold evening to know that she was up there; that he would soon be with her.

A minute or so later and he was outside her door waiting for her to answer with no idea as to how this conversation was likely to go. He heard the faint sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. As the door started to open he noticed his hands feeling shaky and his heart rate increasing and he wasn't sure if it was the drugs or nerves that he was finally about to see her after all this time.

So, that's chapter one. I'd love to know what you think of it so far so please review.

Chapter two will be posted on Monday so until then take care my fellow Sherlollians wherever you are in the world.